


Gone Girl

by Hardwood_Studios



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Blood and Gore, Citadel of Ricks, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Possessive Behavior, Sex Toys, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 13:58:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15753102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hardwood_Studios/pseuds/Hardwood_Studios
Summary: Morty is overwhelmed by the host of unsavory feelings he keeps secret from Rick -- when trying to solve all his problems on the Citadel, he gets caught and thoroughly punished.





	Gone Girl

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: this is my first Rick&Morty fic, it's got some pretty dark themes so please keep that in mind. Dubcon for sure, but also some gore and descriptions of blood. This could roll as a oneshot, but I'm thinking of adding maybe three more chapters or so. Feedback always welcome!

Seventeen looked good on Morty. Too good, as far as Rick was concerned. Whether from spending so much time with Rick over the years -- a man he once described as a “super fucked up God” -- or something that came with age, he finally started developing confidence. His body was leaving adolescence behind, and he was more than happy to trade in his creaky, broken voice and lanky limbs for the mature alternatives. Morty would never be tall or built, he was more  _ twinky  _ than anything, but he seemed beyond content with himself lately. His newfound confidence presented in many ways, one of which the changes he’d been making to his wardrobe. 

 

The yellow, cotton tees had been replaced more often than not with billowy tanks. He wore them a size bigger than necessary, so delicate collarbones and thin shoulders were always a feature. His jeans, however, got tighter. He also let his hair grow. Loose, sienna curls tickled the tops of his ears. Rick gnashed his teeth against all sorts of urges everytime his grandson would tuck a wily lock behind his small ear. Attitude changes were another hiccup in their dynamic. While Morty had long accepted his place at Rick’s side -- subordinate at best, stockholm victim at worst, and a whole lot of great and terrible shit in between -- he’d started to sass more and tolerate less. With every smartass remark, Rick was that much closer to reminding Morty of his place. A thrill rang through him at the prospect of doing so, but he was enjoying the new friction too much to snuff it out just yet. Or, he was.

 

Their most recent escapade put things into perspective for Rick; mainly, that Morty had gotten much too comfortable with his grandpa’s complacency. Morty had pilfered his portal gun on a night he’d decided to get sloppy drunk and knock out across the workbench. That alone wouldn’t be enough to push Rick over the proverbial edge, but his whereabouts and intentions sure the fuck were. Of course Rick had a spare, and  _ of course  _ Rick had the ability to track his original. His grandson had portaled off to the Citadel, which instantly put a bad taste in Rick’s mouth. The Citadel was a cesspool of all the worst parts of himself, and he hadn’t the first clue what would draw his Morty back to that hole.  He input the most recent coordinates from the original into the spare and climbed through the dimensional door. He tried for discreet when stepping out on the other side, but not one of his eccentric counterparts spared him a second glance. 

 

Tucking the spare into the inner folds of his jacket, a resounding belch hot from his throat, he withdrew a small handheld. He wouldn’t be a Rick worth his salt if he didn’t have his Morty tagged. The little shit was in...a bar? Rick scowled hard enough to earn himself a few new wrinkles. He fondled the handle of a plasma pistol tucked into his waistband, brought just in case things got messy as they tended to do. The bar was one frequented by an unsavory kind of Rick, and Rick of Earth dimension C-137 was growing increasingly furious with every clomping step closer to the establishment. He’d never visited the place himself (because the Citadel literally sickened him), but he knew what kind of shit went down in the back. With a calm face that bellied the murderous intent roiling through him, he pushed into the seedy pub. He spotted his Morty amongst a sea of Ricks near instantly. 

 

Morty, completely unaware of his Rick’s arrival, was on cloud nine. A big part of him felt guilty for going behind Rick’s back and borrowing the man’s most treasured item without his permission, but a couple shots sitting heavy in his belly were enough to quiet his mind of such concerns. He felt confident in this venture, safe in the thought that his Rick would be out until morning. A different Rick, very different from his own, had him all but pinned against the bar. His hair was shorter and somehow wilder, scars littering his old and handsome face. He was muttering the sweetest, filthiest things in a grumble so like  _ his  _ Rick, and Morty was flush and glowing all over. It wasn’t the Rick he wanted, but it was enough. Especially when this version of his grandfather was happy to feed him one sweet drink after another.

 

“You have got to be th-the sexiest Morty on the whole fucking Citadel, kid. Wh-wh-what dimension did you say you were from?” He groaned appreciatively. Despite the fog of inebriation settled over his brain, Morty knew better than to answer truthfully. No Rick would touch him if they knew he belonged with the Rogue. He tittered shyly and tucked a loose curl behind his ear, casting his eyes down so his lashes might look extra thick and striking against his cheekbones. “I didn’t say, it’s a s-secret.” The Rick grinned, a vicious flash of discolored teeth. He got bolder with his hands; Morty felt a hot, calloused palm sliding under his shirt and cupping the notches of his spine. “A Morty full of m-m-mystery, huh? Who told you that was allowed?” 

 

The Rick slid a sure arm around his waist, his fingers purpling the soft meat of his hip. Throwing what little caution he’d been exercising to the wind, the Rick found a tender spot on Morty’s neck to mouth out. Keening high in his throat, needy and unashamed who knew it, he tossed his head back and gasped “ah! Gr-grandpa Rick!” And that’s how his Rick found him. He didn’t see his grandfather right away, as Rick approached from behind, but the alternate Rick marking up his throat did. Feeling cruel and territorial, the alternate Rick grabbed a handful of taut, teenage ass and bit hard on the skin caught in his teeth. Morty arched and moaned, enjoying himself up until all the shit hit what must’ve been the biggest fan in the multiverse. 

 

“ **Morty** .” Rick, his Rick, snarled. It had the same effect on him as plunging through a patch of ice and into freezing water. He was left cold, breathless, and fearing for his life. Shoving away from the alternate Rick hard enough to nearly knock himself from the bar stool, he whipped around to face his grandfather. His eyes were big with fear and suddenly full of unshed tears. “R-R-Rick, I-um, it’s no-no-not-” He couldn’t make it halfway through an excuse, not with the look on Rick’s face. Somehow Morty knew he’d killed a man tonight; there was no implication of murder, but a  _ promise _ of it. Rick was going to make a ghost of this alternate version of himself, and Morty felt sick with guilt and dread. 

 

He clambered off the stool, more graceless than usual, and took an aborted halfstep towards his Rick. Not looking away from his alternate self, Morty didn’t think he’d break that eye contact for less than the implosion of the universe, he shot a portal into the floor. “Go home, now.” He barked. Morty hesitated for half a second before scrambling to obey. He almost dove headfirst into the luminous, green puddle in a sad attempt to appease his Rick. The portal splashed out of existence behind him, leaving Rick in a bar full of versions of himself. Fortunately, he was smart enough to stay out of his own fucking way. The alternate Rick was looking increasingly unsettled, like the gravity of his situation was starting to settle. “You’re th-the...” He trailed off, belching anticlimactically. 

 

“That’s right, motherfucker. I’m the fucking  _ rogue _ , b-biiiitch.” Rick snarled. He ripped the labcoat from his shoulders and let it drop to the floor. All the gadgets and gizmos contained within its inner pockets made a loud clatter that seemed to shake the entirety of the bar. Rick swiped a bottle from the sticky bartop and shattered it in the same fluid motion. He’d invented WMD’s out of chewing gum and a handful of pencil erasers, but he wanted to do this with his hands. He wanted to feel flesh split under the sharpness of his knuckles. Back home, Morty was curled into a tight, panicked ball atop his comforter. He was seconds away from hyperventilating himself into a restless blackout. 

 

What did Rick think of him now? Was he filled with disgust? Would he stop taking Morty on adventures? Would he  _ leave _ for good? Morty was making himself sick with same or similar thoughts and questions. He fucking hated himself for thinking he could outsmart Rick. He hated himself for manifesting such vile urges in the first place, let alone acting on them. He fisted his hair and tugged harshly. The pain in his scalp grounded him a little. Fifteen to twenty agonizing minutes later, a portal materialized in his floor. Morty jumped hard enough to pinch a nerve. Anxiety hardened in his stomach and left a sour taste in his mouth. He waited with baited breath for Rick to emerge from the portal, a new bead of sticky sweat forming with each second that passed.

 

After two minutes of nothing but the soft hum of interdimensional matter, portal still present and swirling gently, Morty realized  _ he  _ was meant to go through it. His heart dropped like a sack of flour into the yawning pit of his gut. He swallowed, but his mouth was so dry all of a sudden. Every part of him screamed against it, but deliberately disobeying Rick at this point was not an option. Breathing hard and shaking like a junkie, he crawled off his bed and approached the portal. Willing himself not to cry, he jumped through the spectral puddle. Instead of the middle of empty space or a post apocalyptic wasteland, it deposited him in the garage. Morty didn’t let himself feel too relieved, however. 

 

Rick’s presence hit him hard. The garage was fairly large, but it felt smaller than a broom closet in that moment. He was leaning against his workbench, arms crossed over his chest and one knee bent. His eyes were closed and his labcoat was MIA. He looked otherwise calm and casual, if not for the buckets’ worth of blood covering him from head to toe. Morty whimpered, scrambling back until his back smacked the garage door. Rick cracked his eyes open and speared Morty with a hard look. “Co-come over here, M-Mooortyyy.” He crooned. His tone was light but undercut with steel. Morty swallowed audibly and hesitated a second longer than Rick found acceptable, if the narrowing of his eyes were any indicator. He forced his legs into action. Every step closer to his grandfather had his heart hammering harder in its bone cage. 

 

When he stood less than a foot from his grandfather, Rick finally made a move of his own. He reached out and held Morty’s jaw lightly between a bloodied thumb and forefinger. “I-I brought -  _ URP _ \- I got you a pre-present, baby.” He cooed sweetly. Morty’s eyes were full of tears and trepidation. “R-Rick, I-” His frantic, babbled apology never found completion, as Rick was suddenly squeezing his cheeks and jaw with punishing force. Morty whimpered, but knew better than to try and pull free. “Ssshhh, don-don’t interrupt me, baby boy.” Rick hissed. Breath hot with the memory of alien spirits and burnt toast washed over Morty’s face. He flinched, not that Rick cared about his discomfort. His grip softened after a moment, and he was back to murmuring sweet nothings.

 

“Ch-check it out, MoURGtyyyy. Look what I brought you, baby.” Rick moved to stand behind Morty, his hand never coming away from his grandson’s face. His other arm curled around Morty’s waist like a hungry viper, and he pulled the smaller body tight against himself. Morty choked on a shriek. Sitting atop Rick’s workbench, gray skinned and colorful drool drying halfway down its chin, was the dismembered head of the Rick he’d been flirting with. His eyes had been completely gouged; the pitch, empty holes where eyeballs used to sit had vomit climbing the walls of Morty’s throat. The meat of his face had been shredded up like one of Beth’s more tender roasts. Flaps of torn flesh were barely clinging to muscle, they hung from the dead Rick’s face like an elementary school art project. Morty was frozen, as his body hadn’t yet decided on screaming, crying, or fighting the man behind him for a chance at freedom. Ultimately and predictably, he broke into sobs. 

 

“Rick, I-I-I’m so sorry! I know I’m a si-sick piece of sh-shit and I took your p-p-portal gun, but  _ please _ , please don-don’t kill me!” He wailed. Tears wet his face and mixed with the drying streaks of blood left by Rick’s hand. Rick turned him so they were facing each other and brought both hands up to cradle his grandson’s damp, splotchy face. He was making shushing sounds and stroking his thumbs over Morty’s cheekbones. Rick didn’t stop his soothing ministrations until Morty’s sobbing had mostly quieted. “No, Morty, you don-don’t get it. You’re fucking mine,  _ mine _ , M-Mortyyyy. You’re my grandson, my Morty, every breath from your tiny lungs and path _ etic _ thought to cross your brain all  **_belong to me_ ** . You almost - you almost fucked up real bad, Morty.” He snarled into his grandson’s terrified face, his grip turning hungry and hard. “You let that other Rick put his filthy hands on you, and you were going to let him  _ fuck _ you, right?”

 

Morty squeezed his eyes shut, the skin of his eyelids whitening with tension, and flushed into the roots of his hair. He was mortified, but also confused. Was Rick...jealous? “Answer me now, Morty.” Rick commanded quietly, and Morty knew his grandfather’s patience was pulled taut and close to snapping. “Y-yes.” He squeaked. He couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact with Rick, staring hard at his chin instead. “Yes  _ what _ ?” 

 

“I...I-I wanted...I wanted that R-R-Rick to - ” Angry, shameful tears spilled down his face; he couldn’t say it. Rick seemed satisfied with his half--confession nevertheless. Rick spun him around to face the workbench. Morty instantly closed his eyes to avoid looking at the dead Rick. Strong, thin arms came around him like snakes. Rick pressed his front to Morty’s back so tightly, a slip of paper wouldn’t have been able to pass between them. He dug his teeth into the soft meat of his grandson’s neck and shoulder. “You almost m-messed up, but I got there in time, Morty. This is just a reminder, this is what’s going to happen when you  _ let someone put their hands on you _ .” 

 

Rick suddenly pulled back. He fisted a hand in Morty’s thick hair and forced him to bend at the waist. Morty’s cheek smacked the workbench. Blood stuck to his face like a macabre face mask. He opened his mouth to shriek, but instantly tasted warm pennies and decay. Rick held his face to the bench, wet with gore, and attacked the fastening of his jeans. Pants and underwear were soon pooled about his knocking knees like he were a naughty tot not long for punishment. “Rick, wha-!”

 

“Put your hands on the table, now.” 

 

Morty choked on a wail, but complied. His fear and misery were tangible things. He spread his fingers through the nauseating mixture of oil and blood, closing his eyes and wishing himself far away. Rick didn’t let him chase the fantasy for long. He took a kneeling position behind his exposed and fearful grandson. His mouth found purchase on the soft curve of meat where thigh met ass. He nibbled and sucked, gently at first but harder after some seconds. Old fingers fisted his grandson’s tender cheeks, pulling the silky skin apart. Morty shrieked with his mouth closed. Rick laid a hard smack on his outer thigh, a visible ripple of shock shooting through his grandson. He redirected his focus on the soft opening that twitched from betwixt Morty’s cheeks, prodding at it with rough fingerpads and laving it with long laps.

 

Rick might not have noticed were he anyone else, but he’s had plenty experience with both Morty and sex; he could tell his pathetic shakes and shivers were taking on a different, needier quality. Grinning at these subtle changes, Rick took off the training wheels. He slipped his tongue and a single finger, knuckle deep, into Morty’s clenching heat. “ _ R-rick-?! _ ” Morty shrieked, his voice a wrecked whisper. Rick laughed. It was a muffled sound, as his tongue still worked at Morty’s insides. He pulled back with a wet sound and said, “you want this, you’ve  _ wanted _ this from your ol’ Grandpa for a long time, huh?” 

 

Morty made an embarrassed sound somewhere between a sob and a moan, and it shot straight to Rick’s filling cock. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a small device. It was smooth and shaped like a bullet. In his other hand he held a similarly small touchpad. A couple taps to the screen had the bullet beginning to warm and secrete an oily substance. With no warning to Morty, he pressed the little bullet against his tight opening and  _ pushed _ . It slipped inside him fluidly, and Morty jerked hard at the intrusion. “Wha-! R-rickkkk, what was that?” He squeaked, sounding half terrified and half turned on. Rick stood to his full height, his knees cracking through the transition. He delivered another brutal blow to Morty’s ass, pinkening the flesh to a pretty color. “You don’t get to ask questions right now,  _ Morty _ .” 

 

He tapped at the handheld, two times, and Morty was horrified to feel the  _ thing  _ inside him shifting, growing. It got steadily bigger until Morty felt impossibly full and was blubbering a tearful plea to Rick to make it  _ stop _ . It did, and Morty sobbed his relief.  “I-I can’t, Rick, please ta-take it out!”  _ Slap _ . Rick dropped a third slap to the soft meat where thigh turns into ass, leaving the flesh hot and stinging. “You  _ definitely _ don’t need to be giving out any oURGHders.” He scoffed. “But since you wanna be in control so bad...” He folded himself over his grandson’s bent form and brought the touchpad into Morty’s line of sight. “G-go ahead, baby, touch it.” 

 

Morty stared at the small, glowing screen in something like shock and humiliation. Rick wanted him to...to control the little plug, make it do weird stuff while  _ inside _ . Shame and embarrassment welled up in his core, but at the same time, Rick was right. He did want for this or something similar to happen, he wanted his grandfather’s attention. He wanted to be at his mercy, melted down and reforged into the perfect cockslut all at the hands of his Rick. Even though he was scared of what potential tricks the bullet inside him was yet to perform, he also wanted to please Rick. A huge part of him was getting off to the thought of simple obedience and doing as he was told. Before Rick could ask him a second time, Morty tapped gently at the touchscreen, his fingers shaking and wet with blood. “Yessss, good job, baby boy.” Rick hissed into his ear. The toy was starting to get warmer inside him, and he felt a wetness forming between his cheeks and thighs. The toy must be secreting something. 

 

Rick’s skeletal fingers slipped between his cheeks, feeling the slick and pushing gently against his flushed hole. Morty’s body, pulled taut like a freshly strung bow, instinctively hitched back into Rick’s hand. The power imbalance was getting to him, filling his head with heat and cotton. He knew his life was no longer at stake, and Rick definitely didn’t despise him or plan to leave. His earlier fear and anxiety were being chipped away, replaced by delirious need. “Riiiiick...” He whined. Rick was beyond pleased with these changes in behavior. For the most part, Morty was unbelievably predictable and easy to read, but there were still times he managed to pull one over on Rick. Now was one of the most memorable of those times; not only that he’d managed to harbor such a twisted attraction for his grandfather without Rick picking up on it, but in his reaction to this sudden and violent come on. Rick thought for sure he’d get more resistance. 

 

“G-go on,  _ Mortyyy.  _ Press it again.” He demanded hoarsely. Panting, quick breaths that kept him lightheaded, Morty moved to comply. The simple act of lifting his arm had the toy shifting noticeably inside him, and Morty was wracked with twitchy shivers. He gasped, overstimulation had tears collecting in his lower lashes and a permanent wobble in his bottom lip. He tapped at the screen again, trepidation filling his chest and leaving no room for his lungs to inflate. The bullet began to vibrate, softly at first but with greater and greater intensity. Before long it felt like his bowels were going to rattle out of his body. The stimulation to his prostate was violent and unceasing. Anticipating his grandson’s full bodied response, Rick slapped a hand across the lower half of Morty’s face just as he started screaming. Rick groaned, shocked to realize how close to busting in his pants he actually was. 

 

Morty was actively struggling in his hold, one hand reaching behind himself to try and draw the toy from his body and the other clawing at the back of Rick’s hand that was still tight across his mouth. The pleasure was too much, he was going crazy with it. Rick snatched the hand reaching behind and held it fast to the divet of his lower back. With one arm pinned behind himself and Rick’s hand smothering his breathy, broken screams, Morty had no choice but to shake and cry through the most powerful orgasm he’d ever experienced. Completely untouched, he sprayed the front of the workbench and dirtied the tops of his legs and stomach. The toy was still uncomfortably large and ripping out almighty vibrations, it drew his orgasm into almost a forty-five second affair. When he started coming down, the vibrations against his hypersensitive insides grew painful. “R-Riiick, pl-please,  _ please _ !” He sobbed. 

 

Finally showing a little humility, Rick snagged the touchscreen from where it lay in his alternate’s blood. A couple taps to the display had the toy shrinking and ceasing all movement. Morty went limp and completely boneless, Rick almost believed him to be unconscious. Carefully depositing Morty’s upper half into its previous position across the workbench, he took a knee behind his grandson. He massaged gentle, soothing circles into the dimples of Morty’s back with his thumbs. “You-ya gotta, gotta push it out, baby.” He grunted loud enough for Morty to hear. Morty whimpered, obviously dreading the thought of doing such a thing. After another minute of sweet coaxing and little affirmations of affection (“d-did  _ such _ a good job for me, baby boy”), Morty made himself bear down against the foreign object filling him. With some effort, it popped through the softened ring of muscle. Rick snarled, the sight awakening something deeply primal in him. He took the bullet between his thumb and forefinger, holding the little device in place before Morty could fully pass it. Another quick tap to the handheld had the end of the bullet changing shape, turning it into a plug that caught at the edges of Morty’s sphincter. 

 

Morty whined weakly; he no longer seemed bothered by the blood and bodily fluid stuck to his face and upper body. They were both covered in it. Before either could say anything in the aftermath of what they’d just done, a jarring knock at the garage door had tension shooting through them. “Dad? Is Morty with you? Dinner will be ready in a minute!” Beth didn’t wait for an answer, the sound of her waning steps a small comfort. Rick looked down at his handiwork. The mess he’d made of himself and his grandson left him feeling satisfied in a way he’d never known before. Without a word, he set to work cleaning the blood from them with the aid of a gadget. It took seconds to dissolve the sticky coagulation from their clothes and skin. Morty was little more than a limp doll throughout the process, allowing Rick to move his body and redress him. Once they were both decent, in some sense of the word, Rick tilted Morty’s face up to meet his. His eyes were still glazed and shiny with delirium. With lips almost touching, “do you ge- _ URGH _ -get it now,  **_Morty_ ** , how things are going to be now?”  

 

His vision seemed to finally clear. Fear flushed the color from his face, but acceptance eventually won out. Casting his eyes to the floor, he nodded meekly. Belching hotly, Rick straightened up and made for the garage door. He disabled the sound barrier that was active during their earlier, noisy encounter. He didn’t look back to see if Morty was trailing him, already knowing his grandson was hot on his heels like a whipped, loyal animal. 


End file.
